


pacify our love

by chikoo



Series: ot8 vampire coven [1]
Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Gore, Caning, Devotion, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Polyamory, Punishment, San being everyone's baby, Vampire Sex, bloody sex isn't a tag but the sex do be bloody tho they're vamps, idk man i just think ot8 vampire coven is sexy, this is sappy af tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:41:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chikoo/pseuds/chikoo
Summary: He knows exactly how much trouble he’s in, knew the consequences of disobeying his coven. He’s not sure if he’s prepared for it, though.
Relationships: Choi Jongho/Jeong Yunho/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Everyone, Choi San/Jeong Yunho, Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Choi San/Kim Hongjoong, Choi San/Park Seonghwa, Kang Yeosang/Park Seonghwa/Song Mingi, OT8 - Relationship
Series: ot8 vampire coven [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803214
Comments: 28
Kudos: 313





	pacify our love

**Author's Note:**

> IM-  
> yo this is the single most explicit thing I've ever written and i was honestly going to upload this under anon lmaoo  
> anyways, here enjoy vampire coven doting on san with Joong as their sire.  
> warnings in tags, if there's anything I've missed, please do let me know in the comments I'm putting this up at 3 am rip but i need it done and OUT THERE IN THE UNIVERSE SO IT'S NO LONGER SITTING IN MY DOCS.
> 
> Big thank you to Shan and Jaskier for beta reading, you guys are literally the best, i love y'all!!!!!
> 
> if you'd like some songs to listen to while reading this, i was listening to Papi Pacify by fka twigs, Die for You by the Weeknd, Trust by Brent Faiyaz, Pink + White by Frank Ocean and Skin by Rihanna on REPEAT lol.

“He knows.” 

Yeosang’s voice echoes loudly into the quiet of the hallway and San tamps down the urge to flinch. Yeosang’s always been the quietest out of all of them, slinking in and out of rooms like a shadow. San lifts his head and finds Yeosang reclining on the ornate ledge over the doorway, Like a nosy cat curled up, waiting for San to come home. San shuts the front door behind him and turns around to eye the lazy, deliberate way Yeosang sits, body taut. Then, Yeosang breaks into a tiny smile, sharpened teeth peeking out just a little at the corners of his mouth, in that way that makes Hongjoong call him ‘ _baby kitten’_. San relaxes and rolls his eyes, heading down the hallway. There’s a tiny thud behind him and then Yeosang’s soundless footsteps by his side. 

“You’re soaking wet,” Yeosang murmurs, glancing at the damp white shirt that sticks to San’s skin. San runs his fingers through dripping hair and shrugs. It’s pouring outside, rain splattering on the ground loudly. He’d been lucky. The rain made it much easier to hide what he’d done. 

“I stole clothes from them. It’s raining pretty heavily,” he says. He doesn’t mention how the rain washed away matted blood and skin from under his nails. His hands tremble just a little where they hang by his side. Yeosang says nothing but San can feel the weight of his gaze on him. Yeosang shifts closer, not quite touching San yet, leaning in to take a short sniff from the back of San’s neck. He makes a _blegh!_ sound and reels away. 

“You smell like hunters. Seonghwa’s going to make you strip the second you walk in. You’re in a whole lot of trouble, you know?” 

San tries not to let a violent tremble take hold of him. He knows exactly how much trouble he’s in, knew the consequences of disobeying his coven. He’s not sure if he’s prepared for it, though. There’s a familiar restlessness roiling under his skin, the way it always is after a kill. He wants- _needs_ to see Hongjoong, no matter how much trouble he’s caused. He just grunts, ignoring the knowing look Yeosang sends his way. 

“It was reckless. I-I was worried.” 

Yeosang’s words make San slow down, the sudden heaviness in his voice weighing them down. He glances to his side to find Yeosang looking at him with an infinitely familiar, endless gaze. He used to struggle with understanding what it meant when Yeosang first joined them, a painfully thin, beautiful boy on the brink of death just like the rest of them had been. He still remembers the gentle way Seonghwa had carried him into their home, a dying boy he’d found in a dingy alley wearing clothes that looked far too expensive for the grey, malnourished pallor of his skin. Hongjoong had taken one look at Yeosang, the wide, violent slashes across his stomach, gushing with blood and wasted not a moment longer before sinking his teeth into the boy’s paper-thin skin. 

When Yeosang had awoken, his body healed and preserved, he was closed off to the coven, sealed away like a body in a coffin. It was evident in the way he spoke- hesitant and guarded- in the affection he only freely gave to Seonghwa. After so many years together, San’s learned to discern the weighted care shielded behind a meticulously built wall. He reaches a hand out and thumbs at Yeosang’s jaw, lets the younger curl into his touch for a moment, a silent apology. 

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it, I _had_ to do it.” 

Yeosang nods and gives him another tiny, secret smile. “I know, I just wish you’d told me so I could have joined you. I would’ve enjoyed tearing through hunter flesh. It’s been a while.” 

San chuckles and runs his tongue over his teeth. There’s nothing left, just the phantom taste of blood, a sated tingling in his gums. It had been so satisfying, catching them unprepared, the hunters that _dared_ to lay their hands on their coven, on their sire. Their screams, the smell of their terror, had been tantalising. He hadn’t been afraid at all then. But as they walk through the hallway, coming closer and closer to the living room, fear and anticipation settle around his throat like a vice. 

“He-how angry was he?” 

“He was just... silent. He knows you can take care of yourself but he worries. I can smell fae essence, they’ve been drinking, waiting for you,” Yeosang says intently and San’s stomach swoops. He understands now why Yeosang had been waiting for him alone. Hongjoong only drinks when he’s troubled, when he wants the coven to relax after a particularly stressful night. Fae essence isn’t easy to come across and San feels guilty, a strange fluttering in his stomach. He was expecting Hongjoong to be angry, to yell at him, berate him. He’s never been able to handle disappointing Hongjoong, _hates_ seeing his sire upset. 

Before he knows it, they’re standing outside the large, carved wooden doors of the living room. The house is archaic and lavish, one of many Hongjoong has bought and furnished over the last few centuries. They haven’t been here very long but it’s already San’s favourite. It’s exactly the kind of lush, luxuriant home he used to admire as a child, staring at the local mansions in awe from behind foreboding gates that kept the likes of him away, watching filthy rich people dressed in embroidered frocks and suits, almost trampling him over with their carriages. An orange light flickers from under the doors, beckoning them inside. Yeosang places a gentle hand on the small of San’s back and pushes the doors open. 

The heady, saccharine-sweet smell of fae essence wafts towards them, heavy and pungent in the air. San breathes in deep, can feel the way the very scent makes heat pool up in his stomach. A fire crackles in the corner of the room, accompanied by soft murmuring that stops abruptly when he steps into the room. San shivers and his damp skin prickles in the sudden warmth. He’s almost afraid to look up, the heavy silence making his skin crawl. 

Then he hears a high-pitched, delighted, giggle, and follows the sound to find Wooyoung beaming at him, cheeks ruddy, splayed across his belly on Yunho’s lap wearing nothing but a flimsy robe, flask in hand, almost spilling the silvery viscous liquid. His eyes are glassy, hair mussed up, and San wonders just how much of the essence they’ve drunk. Yunho’s no better, one hand gripping the exposed skin of Wooyoung’s ass, face slack. It’s the hard look in his eyes that makes tremors roll down San’s back. 

They’re all draped across the sofas, reclining in the chairs, gathered around the warm fire, in the decadent, sleepy way San _craves_ , on nights where Hongjoong lets him curl up in his arms, where Seonghwa indulges him and bathes him with touches. San avoids looking at the armchair in the very centre of the room, catching a flash of tanned skin, a silk shirt unbuttoned, silver chains and necklaces. 

“San.” Seonghwa’s voice cuts across the room like a knife and San can’t stop the violent flinch that comes over him. Immediately he’s trembling, cowed, and he looks at Seonghwa beseechingly, who sits leaning back on the large sofa, Mingi leaning into his side, eyes fluttering like he’s dozing in and out of consciousness. 

“I-I’m,” the words are lodged in San’s throat. All he can do is stare at Seonghwa, keep his gaze fixed on Seonghwa’s soft eyes because he doesn’t _deserve_ to look anywhere else, especially at the person he wants to look at the most, wants to _please_ the most. Seonghwa sighs, gently pushes Mingi towards Jongho and stands up. San meets him halfway, surges into his arms and lets himself sag, like a child begging for affection. Seonghwa’s always made them all feel like that anyway, so indulgent with them when they were fledglings, always has his arms open for them to fall into. 

San buries his nose into Seonghwa’s neck and exhales heavily. He hadn’t realised how strung up he’s been, the adrenaline from the kill still simmering inside him, body feeling jittery. He needs someone to hold him, needs someone to quell the scorching heat inside because he’s terrified his body’s going to burn up. 

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. Are you alright? Hurt?” Seonghwa pulls away to run his eyes over San’s body, turning him around so they’re standing closer to the fireplace, warming San’s body. San shakes his head frantically. 

“I’m not, I promise I was careful, I just- I had to, I was so _angry_ , I couldn’t let them get away with it, knowing they could come after us again-”

And San wonders if the overwhelming blind-hot rage that drove him to slaughter an entire group of hunters is something he should be afraid of. Wonders if it makes him the murderers the mortals like to call them. An insidious part of him murmurs that maybe it isn’t so bad to be a murderer if that’s what it takes to protect his coven, to make sure nothing happens to them, make sure they remain together and never leave him alone again. His head feels clouded, and Seonghwa’s touch isn’t enough to ground him-

“Sannie, my sweet boy. Come here.” 

The effect is instantaneous, like a moth to a flame. San doesn’t even think of disobeying, crossing the room in moments to kneel at the foot of the armchair, eyes fixed on Hongjoong’s thighs, the way his legs are spread wide in the chair. There’s something so wonderfully debilitating about being on his knees, a certain rightness like this is exactly where San belongs, between Hongjoong’s legs, reverent. 

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when a soft hand caresses his cheek, nudges his chin until he’s being forced to look up, to look Hongjoong in the face. Hongjoong looks fond but dangerous, shadows from the fireplace darkening his jaw and cutting across his cheekbones. His silver hair is slicked back, sleek and neat, the way Hongjoong prefers to keep it. Mingi makes fun of Hongjoong’s habits sometimes: the outdated, muddled way he dresses, the way he still uses a tiny, wide-toothed comb to slick pomade through his hair, or the large collection of fashionable hanboks he’s amassed over time, an entire room set aside just for the clothes, preserved with the utmost care. Hongjoong appears to live in the very midst of time, ageless yet ancient at the same time, with eclectic mannerisms. San has never met anyone he admires more, never met anyone he’s _devoted_ to as much. 

Hongjoong says nothing, lets the pad of his thumb rest on San’s bottom lip, pressing into the plush skin intently. He stares at San with an unreadable expression, and San doesn’t _dare_ say a word. He lets his sire touch him, revels in the feeling, the familiar gentleness, and waits. 

An insistent finger parts his lips and San’s mouth hangs open easily. Hongjoong runs his finger across his fangs, prodding at his tongue. San has the overwhelming urge to close his lips around the finger, to suck on it and show Hongjoong how good he is, but he tamps it down. It’s almost like Hongjoong’s inspecting him, and something about it-the clinical way Hongjoong does it-makes heat rush to San’s cheeks. 

“How many were there?” 

He almost doesn’t hear the question, his mind buzzing lowly, squeaking in surprise when Hongjoong presses down on his tongue with a sharpened nail, a tiny prick of pain bringing San back. He swallows around the digit and stares at Hongjoong helplessly, unsure if he’s expected to reply. He can taste the slightest tinge of fresh blood. Hongjoong stares right back and slowly, raises a perfect eyebrow in question. 

“Fifteen, I think,” he murmurs, muffled and quiet, drool pooling up under his tongue. Hongjoong’s face shifts minutely, pleasantly surprised. 

“And you killed them all?” San nods eagerly. He wouldn’t risk leaving any survivors, knows how dangerous that could be. 

Hongjoong takes the finger out of his mouth and San almost groans in complaint but quietens when Hongjoong takes hold of his jaw with the same hand, gentle but firm. Then he smiles, wide and bright, eyes crinkling up, and San forgets to breathe for a moment. 

“ _Fifteen hunters._ My vicious little cub. I’m proud of you. You never cease to amaze me,” Hongjoong praises, voice heavy with emotion.

Suddenly a visceral memory hits him, muddy and hazy around the corners, the memory of being right here, between Hongjoong’s legs, but a long time ago, in a sweltering hot room, stinking of sweat and the sea. The brothel he’d died in, found lifeless by Hongjoong, and reborn. The first place he’d marked with revenge, the blood and the flesh of his first kill, vibrating with the rage, the _need_ to sink his teeth into something else, or have someone sink their teeth into him, hold him down and _force_ him into place before his soul left his body, if it hadn’t already. And Hongjoong had been there, Hongjoong is always there, licking up the blood from San’s skin, taking him right there, kneeling in a pool of still-warm blood, in a room full of dead bodies, tearing into the back of San’s neck until the pain felt like a brand, a claim on his cold skin. 

Hongjoong’s smile widens as if he can see exactly what San’s remembering, eyes glinting like gold in the dim light. San watches Hongjoong’s canines lengthen slowly, slipping out over his lips, the languid way Hongjoong flicks his tongue over them, holding San transfixed. He pulls away a little, and leans over to the side, picking up a flute glass from the side table and bringing it to San’s lips. He holds it there for a moment so San can see a small amount of silver liquid shimmering inside, smell the intoxicating scent of the essence and then he tips San’s chin back, downing the contents of the glass into San’s open throat. San jumps at the sensation of fingers pressing into the sides of his throat, Hongjoong stroking the sensitive skin there like he’s scrutinising the way San gulps down the essence, the way his throat bobs. 

“Fuck, I wish I had been there, seen you rip into their throats, choke down all that blood,” Hongjoong murmurs and San swallows the last bit of essence with a loud gulp. The grip around his throat tightens the tiniest bit, and San hisses at the coldness from Hongjoong’s skin seeping into his, even in the warmth of the fire. 

“And yet, you disobeyed me directly San. You didn’t say a word, didn’t leave a message, nothing. If I didn’t know you so well I would be fretful over the sudden disappearance of one of my own. As relieved as I am to see you unhurt, I cannot leave you unpunished. You need to be taught a lesson.” 

Hongjoong’s words are scathing and San whines in protest. He wants to look away from Hongjoong’s searing gaze but he feels stuck, like the room around them is dissolving into nothingness, nothing except Hongjoong’s sturdy presence. He wants to argue, wants to tell Hongjoong that he couldn’t help it, couldn’t rest until he’d sated the hunger, the rage, the urge to keep them safe. He doesn’t know how to say it without feeling like he’s going to burst out of his skin and his eyes sting as he tears up, fresh blood falling from them. 

Hongjoong sighs, leans forward and clasps his palms around San’s face, pressing a firm kiss under both his eyes, against the blood streaming down. He tilts his head and presses an affirming kiss to San’s forehead, murmuring something over and over. San almost can’t hear it, it’s uttered so softly. But he feels it, recognises the familiar words. It’s a promise, one Hongjoong had made so long ago, to each and every one of them. _I know, I understand. Only for me, mine, forever._

“Joong, I need- please... h-help me-” and fuck he must look deranged, blood streaked all over his face. But Hongjoong beams, eyes crinkling up and his bright smile is at odds with how San’s blood is smeared all over his mouth. San watches the way he darts his tongue out to lick the crimson liquid on his lips, smacking them together with glee. He looks behind San, inclining his head, and suddenly San’s being dragged away from Hongjoong, iron hands bruising into his hips, pulling him away until he’s on his hands and knees in the centre of the room. 

The room is taut with anticipation, the sound of the fire unbearably loud in the quietness. He wants to look up at his coven, but a hand pushes his neck down, pressing his face into the thick, red carpet. 

“Strip him. And burn the clothes.” 

There are hands roaming all over him, pulling at his shirt, shucking the trousers off methodically, until he’s shamefully bare. He digs his fingers into the plush of the carpet and squeezes his eyes shut, head beginning to haze over, a heady laxness enveloping his entire body. Despite everything, he feels _safe_ here, even at his most vulnerable. He can sense the presence of someone behind him, multiple people sitting around him. He could tap into their shared bond and know exactly who’s doling out the punishment, who’s touching him, caressing and gripping his skin like he’s a piece of meat. But he quells his senses, keeps his eyes shut and breathes in the must from the carpet. He likes not knowing, likes the buzzing sensation of fear. 

“What will it be, San? You can choose your method of punishment, I’ll give you that much leeway.” Hongjoong’s soft voice lilts from a little to his left, as if he hasn’t moved from the armchair at all. A hand settles on the bare skin of his ass like a warning, and he shivers. He recognises Jongho’s hands, has felt the sting of them on his skin enough times to remember. It’s hard not to; Jongho particularly likes taking them over his knee, Wooyoung more than anyone else because Wooyoung is the only one shameless enough to taunt Jongho even after numerous punishments.

But he doesn’t want that today. He wants something much more _lasting._ Wants to feel the pain, the marks, for longer, until his skin washes them away eventually like every bruise, every cut. 

“Can I- the cane, please?” His voice comes out strung out and reedy, and he shoves his face into the ground further when he hears Mingi coo from somewhere in the room, watching him, all of them watching him fumble and embarrass himself. 

“ _Fuck_ , you always cry so pretty when we cane you, baby,” Yunho groans out and San can hear the tiny moan Wooyoung utters. He doesn’t have to see them to know Yunho’s got his hands squeezing and playing with the plush skin of Wooyoung’s ass and thighs, already riled up. And fuck, he wants that, wants Yunho’s broad hands crushing his waist, Yeosang’s soft mouth biting little tears into his skin. He wants to feel all of them around him, wants to feel overwhelmed by them, like prey being swarmed. 

Hongjoong chuckles, deep and rough, like the idea of watching San be caned is far too much, far too pleasurable. There’s shuffling, the swish of something in the air and a presence returns to stand behind him, fingers grazing his side briefly. San’s skin is goose-pimpled, body shivering despite the sweltering heat of the room. His arms are shaking but he resists the urge to drop his elbows, knowing he’s expected to keep his back straight, ass in the air. For a moment there’s nothing, just a tight stillness.

Then something hard brushes the inside of his thigh, something sleek and smooth, running up to the seam of his thighs, tapping at the sensitive skin of his balls, the base of his cock. He jolts in surprise and can’t quite hold back the whine. He hadn’t realised how aroused, how tightly coiled his body is, cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs. He’d recognise the smooth wood of the cane anywhere, has felt it on his skin, _inside_ him time and time again. The cane comes back to rest against the taint of his ass and he sucks a breath in. He jerks again when Hongjoong speaks, surprisingly close to him and San freezes at the realisation that it’s him that’s going to punish San, with his own hands. 

“What’s your word, sweetheart? Do you remember it?”

“ _Aster._ I remember, just, _please, I need it, Hongjoong, my lo- ah!”_ The cane swings in the air and strikes him across his ass with no warning, the sting melting into his skin like poison. Hongjoong tuts, a disappointed sound and it makes San choke around a sob. 

“Come on my love, won’t you be good for me? My good boy, taking his punishment with grace. Count them for me?” It’s not a question at all and San hasn’t even murmured a shaky “yes,” yet when the next strike lands on him. The pain feels like it radiates from the muscle of his ass down to his legs, and he’s already quivering with it. 

“T-two.” 

Hongjoong is merciless, swinging the cane in the air with relish and by the fifth strike, San’s sobbing openly, blood pouring out of his eyes and staining the carpet. He’s shaking so badly his knees keep slipping on the smooth thread, and Hongjoong thwaps the back of his thighs in admonishment every time he sags and slips. Despite it all, despite the mind-numbing pain, his cock is so hard, it’s leaking steadily, precum pooling under him. It doesn’t soften even once, not even after the fifteenth strike, one he barely registers, his mind already a melting vat of want and pain. 

“Holy shit, look at that.”

Jongho’s growl cuts across the numbness and San becomes aware of a strange stinging pain on the fat of his ass, the tops of thighs. He shifts minutely and hisses when the stinging becomes worse. It’s as if the very air in the room is causing him pain and knows Hongjoong must have broken through skin, hard enough to make him _bleed._ He doesn’t stop the drawn-out, high-pitched moan, and flops down to the ground like all his strength has left him. He pushes his ass into the air, waiting impatiently when the cane doesn’t come down on him again. 

“Sire, oh my- Joong, want more, _please_ ,” he keens, not understanding why Hongjoong isn’t continuing. Yeosang whimpers from somewhere, Seonghwa murmuring into Yeosang’s ear, _Look at him baby, look at how pretty he looks, how much of a filthy slut._ Seonghwa’s words wash over him like honey and he whines, face burning when he hears a chorus of laughter, murmurs of agreement. San’s distantly aware of the sounds of panting, Wooyoung’s shrill keening muffled, as if there’s something stuffed in his mouth, Mingi mumbling breathless curses over and over, the slap of skin on skin, the smell of sex heavy in the air. He takes pleasure in the fact that his coven is this far gone, all because of him. 

A cold palm settles on the small of his back, scratching lightly at the skin there and San arches, hoping he looks as wanton as he feels. Hongjoong hums, a soothing sound, and massages the taut muscles of his back affectionately. 

“I haven’t drawn blood from you like this in a long time, hmm? Brings back a lot of memories. You’ve always been a disobedient brat, haven’t you San?” Hongjoong’s low, rumbling voice calls forth a slew of images, sensations, echoes from the past, and San chokes around a sob. He remembers a villa on the banks of the sea, when he’d been newly turned, doted on by Seonghwa, Hongjoong and Yunho, before they found the others. 

He remembers the heady sensation of another violent kill, the wretched blood of drunken men on his tongue, men he’d found preying on young boys in seedy bars, boys that had reminded him too much of himself. Even then, despite the fury in Seonghwa’s eyes, the exasperation in Yunho’s voice, they’d understood, picked him up and carried him home, cooing at him and placating him like a wild animal. He won’t ever forget the feeling of Hongjoong’s sharp nails digging into the back of his neck and drawing blood, forcing his head down onto Yunho’s cock, keeping him in place even when he gurgled and gagged and whined; the warm, dopey feeling of Seonghwa fucking him into the floor, knees scraping against the rough wood, stained with his own blood; Hongjoong’s voice, the fondness in his words when he’d pulled at San’s hair, nibbled at his throat and murmured, “ _A tiger, that’s what you are Sannie, a bloodthirsty little cub. Ruthless and beautiful, but pliant for us, so willing to please. What am I going to do with you, hmm?”_

And Hongjoong repeats the question now but it doesn’t sound as helpless, as worried as it used to be. Instead it’s warm, full of love, murmured into the sweating skin of his tailbone. He lets himself take down the barriers he’s placed on their bond, the ones he’d carefully put up before he left to track down the hunters, so no one would know what he planned on doing. It feels like a surge of emotions slamming into his skull. Pain, apprehension, pleasure, happiness but the brightest, most pulsating one: _love._ San wants to roll around in it like a plush cat, soaking up the overwhelming amounts of love filling his head from everywhere, everyone in the room. 

“Do you want to keep going baby? You can use your word if it’s too much, I won’t be angry or disappointed. I’m so proud of you for getting this far, you’ve done so well, been so good for me,” Hongjoong praises him and it makes San cry silently. He shakes his head frantically. He wants more, wants it to hurt even more, knows he can take it. Hongjoong doesn’t question him, just mutters an affirmative. 

“Okay, then. Ten more, then? Actually can we try something, baby?” San hums curiously and whispers a cautious _yes._

“Yunho, come here, sweetheart.” 

San feels like he’s vibrating with excitement and nervousness. He knows exactly where this is going. He hears footsteps and a pair of shiny dress shoes come into his view. A large hand grabs his cheeks and lifts his head up and San opens his eyes, squinting at Yunho’s bright smile. Yunho leans in and licks a stripe up San’s face, lapping at the drying blood from his tears. San gasps and pouts, wants to lean in and kiss and bite at Yunho’s lips but the other holds his jaw hard, squeezing at his cheeks until they begin to hurt. 

“You’re a mess, fuck. Want to make you filthier. Open your mouth for me, baby,” Yunho growls out, his usually docile voice pitched low and gravelly. It makes San’s cock so hard he feels like he might come right then and there. He loves when Yunho gets like this, rough and unforgiving. He drops his mouth open, tongue lolling out and widens his eyes, blushing when Yunho swears. 

Hongjoong pats at his ass lightly, the touch pricking at the bleeding wounds. “Suck his cock Sannie, you’re always so good at it. I want you to count each strike, even with your mouth stuffed full.” 

San takes a shaky breath in, fingers pulling at the carpet so hard, he’s afraid the fabric might tear. Still, he nods and when Yunho unbuttons his trousers, pulling out his cock, he moans unbidden. Yunho’s cock is thick and large and San loves the way it stretches his mouth so much his jaw aches. Yunho feeds it to him slowly, inch by inch until it hits the back of his throat and makes him gag. His throat flutters around it, and he keeps his jaw relaxed, revelling in the way Yunho groans long and hard. He’s barely pulled off a little, sliding his mouth down sloppily, when the cane strikes his ass so hard he jerks forward the slightest bit, gagging violently around the cock in his mouth. Yunho curses, clutches at San’s hair and holds him in place. He can barely speak, mumbles the number incoherently while drool spills from the sides of his mouth. 

It seems to go on forever and San melts into the sensation until there’s nothing occupying his head except for the pain, the fullness in his mouth and a hazy, glazed euphoria. He’s vaguely aware of Yunho thrusting into his mouth, keeping him firmly in place every time he jumps, vaguely aware of the searing, burning pain and the way it washes over his entire body. He’s not sure if he’s calling out the numbers but Hongjoong hasn’t stopped yet so he must be, drooling all over Yunho’s cock and the carpet. When it’s over, he barely registers it, the pain feels like a constant fixture and he suckles on Yunho’s cock even when it softens in his mouth and something thick and goopy coats his tongue, his own cock softening after a release he hadn’t even noticed. 

There are hands on him, something sturdy and warm under his head, steady hands digging into the knots in his shoulders and neck, turning him into incomprehensible goo. Slowly, laboriously slow, his senses come back to him and he stills, aware of Seonghwa under him, naked from the waist up, holding him close. Wooyoung and Yeosang are curled around him like kittens, caressing San’s face, wiping at the crusty blood and semen on his skin. He groans, doesn’t know how long he’s spent like this but when he shifts his legs a little, pain cracks into him like a spiked whip. He moans in pain, eyes pooling up with blood again. Suddenly, he aches for Hongjoong, and he reaches out blindly for his sire, eyes cloudy. 

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s alright, Sannie, I’m cleaning you up, baby, you did so well, my love.” Hongjoong’s voice comes from somewhere behind him and he keens when something presses into the scalding skin of his ass. 

“N-no, don’t want, leave it like that, Joongie, here, please,” he whispers, hoping Hongjoong understands him and sobs in relief when he hears footsteps and Hongjoong’s face comes into view, silk shirt soaked in San’s blood, eyes wide. Seonghwa hefts him up, lets Hongjoong grab him and pull him onto his lap, careful not to brush the coarse material of his pants against the wounds on San’s skin. San sags, sprawled on Hongjoong’s lap right there on the floor, sniffling into Hongjoong’s neck, chest aching at the way Hongjoong praises him, whispers sweet words into his hair. He doesn’t know why he feels as if there’s something gnawing at him, something coiling under his skin, rising in his chest like an onslaught of water, and he chokes on it as it surges into his throat. It’s a horrible slump, the anxiety hitting him the second the euphoria leaves. He desperately needs something to hold on to, needs affirmation that he isn’t- he isn’t bad, he didn’t do anything bad, never to anyone who didn’t deserve it, he’s not a monster-

“Oh baby, it breaks my heart seeing you like this,” Wooyoung whispers, butting his head against San’s arm. He leans in close, pressing a firm kiss to San’s temple and San chases the fleeting touch, falls into Wooyoung, kisses him fervently, open-mouthed and panting. Wooyoung takes it with ease, smiles into San’s mouth, brings a hand around to scratch the base of his neck gently. When they pull apart, Wooyoung’s messy too, streaks of blood all over his pristine skin but he smiles so wide, so happy and his warmth bursts through their bond like sunshine. 

“You’re so good Sannie, the best. My soulmate, my only one. You are _never_ bad, I promise you,” he whispers hoarsely, pecking San like he’s trying to seal the promise.

And Wooyoung always knows exactly what to say because San gasps, grabs his hair, and presses a filthy kiss to Wooyoung’s plush lips, lapping at Wooyoung’s fangs with his tongue, revelling in the little nick of pain when he presses against them too hard. Wooyoung whines into the kiss, and they share a breathy little laugh, losing themselves in the syrupy sensation. Someone curses loudly and San’s face flushes. He knows Wooyoung and him get filthy, make a mess of each other, both equally needy and whiny. He knows it must be a sight to see. Then Wooyoung pulls away, licking at his lips, and stares at San with familiar, teasing eyes. 

“Can I try something?” he asks breathlessly. San nods, slumping against Hongjoong who wraps his arms around his waist securely. 

“Lift your ass up. Just lie down on Hongjoong, sorry Joongie, I promise you’re gonna love this too,” Wooyoung says with a lilt in his voice. Hongjoong grunts and narrows his eyes at Wooyoung but helps San rearrange himself until he’s lying flat on the ground, face pushed into Hongjoong’s lap. He can’t hear what Wooyoung’s up to and he mouths at the fabric of Hongjoong’s pants in agitation, humming when Hongjoong rubs at his neck gently. Then something wet slithers up the stinging skin of his ass and he yelps in pain and surprise, tapering off into a moan when the sensation continues, relentless, and he bites into Hongjoong’s thigh when he realises exactly what’s happening. 

“Fucking hell, Wooyoung, you filthy little _slut_ ,” Jongho rumbles and Yeosang gasps loudly. There’s a chorus of expletives, groans and curses around the room but San barely pays any attention to it, moaning so loudly into Hongjoong’s thigh that he feels like he’s losing his mind a little. It hurts, it hurts so much and so good and he can’t help but push his ass out, shrieking every time Wooyoung laps at the wounds, licking up San’s blood, pushing his tongue into San’s hole briefly, teasing and tempting. His thighs shake violently. 

“Woo, o-oh, I can’t, fuck, so good,” he whimpers and he writhes, body twisting this way and that, head whipping up violently. Hongjoong holds him by the neck firm, and he sighs in relief, grounds himself in the hold. Wooyoung licks a stripe up San’s taint and with no warning, mouths at his hole with relish, holding his cheeks wide open, thrusting his tongue in steadily. The pain has receded a little and San knows his body must be healing, Wooyoung’s saliva helps the process but he misses it, wants it to hurt while Wooyoung takes him apart. When Wooyoung pulls away with a loud, shameless, sucking noise, San’s cock is so hard it’s beginning to ache. 

“There! Told you it’d be good,” Wooyoung boasts and then yelps loudly when Jongho picks him up easily and drags him over to where Yunho’s sitting on the sofa, a hand around his own hardening cock, and dumps him into Yunho’s waiting arms. San watches enraptured, body shivering, as Jongho presses a furious kiss to Wooyoung’s lips, bites into his lip till it pearls up with blood, and shoves three fingers into his mouth, while Yunho surely slips a few into his ass, judging by the way Wooyoung moans and grinds down. San moans in tandem with Wooyoung, can’t look away from the way they have him stuffed on both ends, the way his eyes pool up with bloody tears, mouth slack and swollen. 

He pushes his face into Hongjoong’s thigh with a mewl when Yunho pushes his cock into Wooyoung, and freezes at the sensation of something hard against the side of his face. He looks up to find Hongjoong staring down at him, eyes dark with hunger. He gulps and whines, always feels a little overwhelmed when Hongjoong looks at him like that. He rubs his face against Hongjoong’s erection, rubbing his cheek into the hardness like a cat and he hopes it conveys what he can’t voice in words. Hongjoong laughs, bright and airy, and pulls at his hair, lifting his head up. 

“Needy baby. Do you want to be fucked like that? Every hole stuffed full of cock? You deserve it, my pretty little baby, after how good you’ve been. If you want it, you just have to tell me, Sannie.” And fuck, Hongjoong is the cliff standing steady and strong against San’s raging sea, holds him down and grounds him, and San is so so _devoted._ He looks up at Hongjoong with wide eyes and mouths a tiny, shy “please.” Hongjoong doesn’t relent, stares at San unblinking and San sighs heavily. 

“Please? W-wanna be fucked sire, please, will you give it to me?” It comes out high-pitched and whiny but Hongjoong hums, runs his fingers through San’s hair and thumbs at the apple of his cheek. 

“When you ask me all sweet like that, how can I say no?” He murmurs, heavy and molten. “Seonghwa when you’re done, could you come help San out with his request?” 

San twists around to plead with Seonghwa and sucks a breath in at the sight; Seonghwa’s reclined on a chair, claws digging into the wood as Mingi and Yeosang kneel before him, tongues lapping at his cock, leaving needy, panting kisses on each other’s mouth. The open front of Seonghwa’s pants are wet with spit and precum. Seonghwa lifts his head and fixes his burning gaze onto San, smirking just the tiniest bit. San whips his head around quickly, heart pounding. He lifts himself up on shaky arms and straddles Hongjoong’s lap, arms clenched around Hongjoong’s neck, shivering with need. He wants-fuck, he wants to come so badly. 

“Yeah? You gotta open up for me then kitten,” Hongjoong says and suddenly, there are fingers tapping against the soppy, sensitive skin of his hole. Hongjoong slides one in slowly, made easy by how wet he is already. It feels like heaven, like it’s sating some incessant need in him, some emptiness. But he needs more, one isn’t enough, so he wiggles his ass against Hongjoong’s finger, rolls his hips down and yelps when Hongjoong pushes two more in, fucking up into San steadily. 

By the time Hongjoong’s got four fingers in him, San’s grinding down filthily, abdomen quivering with need, hips jerking every time Hongjoong curls his fingers just the right way. 

“Joongie, please, just fuck me, fuck me open, want to feel you fill me up, mark me.” He’s rambling, pleading shamelessly but it must work because his sire curses, pulls his fingers out and unbuckles his pants, unsheathing his cock and sliding into San with a long, heavy groan. San settles on his cock easily, thinking to himself that he could warm Hongjoong’s cock for hours, just like this, and be a good boy, the best boy. Hongjoong lifts him up a little, sitting on his haunches, and thrusts into him languidly, each stroke burning like liquid fire as his cock stretches San’s hole out. He doesn’t realise how loudly he’s moaning, muttering, crying out in pleasure until a finger hooks around the inside of his cheek and pulls San’s head to the side, cutting his noises off.

Seonghwa stands there with his soft cock hanging out, soaking wet. San doesn’t think, just leans forward and suckles at Seonghwa’s cock with a soft moan, lifting a shaky hand up to wrap his palm around the base, jerking it to hardness. He can taste Mingi and Yeosang on his tongue and he whimpers, keening when Seonghwa holds on to the hair on the base of his skull and pushes his face down. San gurgles around his cock in happiness, trying his best to smile up at Seonghwa, eyes crinkling up, while his cock hits the back of his throat in one smooth motion.

“Fuck, so pretty. The prettiest boy, San, my baby. You love being good for us, don’t you? Our very own little whore, spreading his legs for us, mouth wide open whenever we need it.” Seonghwa’s words go straight down his spine in a full-bodied shiver. He doesn’t even want to refute it. He loves this, loves making them feel good, passed around like a toy with no qualms. 

“You deserve it baby boy, deserve all our attention. Look at you, _fuck_ , taking it so easily,” Seonghwa murmurs and he sounds reverent, like he’s in awe of San. San sucks Seonghwa’s cock down even further, even while bouncing in Hongjoong’s lap, hands scrabbling to hold on to Seonghwa’s hip, Hongjoong’s shoulder. He feels suspended, pinned in place by them and when he gags, moaning around Seonghwa’s cock every time Hongjoong fucks into him harshly, he feels his body go lax, lets them hold him up and fuck into him from both ends like they’re using him to get off. 

Hongjoong comes first, fucking up into San so hard it makes his teeth graze against Seonghwa’s cock and Seonghwa hisses, holds San down and comes into his throat as Hongjoong finishes emptying himself in San’s ass with a curse. He drifts between them, swallows down all of Seonghwa’s release and whimpers when he pulls out, immediately stuffing his own fingers into his mouth and grinding down on Hongjoong’s softening cock. Hongjoong winces but doesn’t move, gently pulls San’s fingers away and guides his mouth to his wrist. San pants in excitement, and moans when a hand wraps around his painfully hard cock. 

“Go on baby, drink up. I got you, you can come now, come on,” Hongjoong coos, kissing his hair. San mouths at the smooth skin of Hongjoong’s wrist, sinking his teeth in and sucking, immediately keening at the taste, fucking into Hongjoong’s fist. He feels lazy and warm, just like the blood filling him up and when he comes, he sighs into the bite, spurting all over Hongjoong’s front. He nibbles at Hongjoong’s skin for a moment, happy and sated, and pulls away, smiling at his sire with blood all over his lips. Hongjoong stares at him with eyes that redden the tiniest bit, tearing up. He leans in and presses a chaste, firm kiss to San’s bloody mouth, whispering a reverent, “ _I love you, my sweet, my own.”_ San drowns in the words, and doesn’t complain when Yunho comes over to lift him up like a ragdoll, cradling San to his chest. 

“It’s time to get you clean you little troublemaker,” he says, smacking San’s ass gently and San laughs, nuzzling into Yunho’s neck with a deep, sated sigh, body and head filled with tenderness.

**Author's Note:**

> hehe. 
> 
> find me on twitter at [fightmehyuk](https://twitter.com/fightmehyuk)
> 
> thank you for reading, please do leave a kudos and comment if you can!


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